My MIL Always Gave My Son the Worst Gifts Because He ‘Wasn’t Blood’ — Until He Taught Her a Lesson

The dinner was exactly what I expected — formal, curated, and cold under a layer of smiles. Everything looked perfect on the outside, but I’d learned a long time ago: Diane cared more about appearances than people.

She wore her pearls and a silk blouse she saved for special occasions.

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, and she seemed annoyed that we were there. That wasn’t new. But no one seemed to notice.

Skye sat between Zach and me.

He was so well-mannered and sweet that it almost hurt. He cut his chicken into small, neat bites. He wiped his mouth before sipping his water.

And he waited for space in the conversations that never included him.

When he mentioned his upcoming piano recital, Diane didn’t even pretend to care. She waved her fork toward Mason’s new science trophy, and shifted the table’s attention like it was her well-rehearsed party trick.

I touched the stem of my wine glass — I just touched it. If I drank too fast, the heat would rise up my throat, and I wasn’t sure I’d get it back down.

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